


As close to home

by merrythoughts, ReallyMissCoffee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Chris, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Bondage, Daddy Chris, Established Relationship, Heat Sex, In Character, Knotting, Light BDSM, M/M, Omega Peter, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 03, Rimming, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 07:30:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17956229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythoughts/pseuds/merrythoughts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReallyMissCoffee/pseuds/ReallyMissCoffee
Summary: It's nothing sweet and traditional, but it works for them. Peter seems less inclined to get into trouble if he's sated sexually or occasionally helping on some of Chris' hunts (and getting his claws bloody in the process). Still, that doesn't stop either of them from the challenges and taunts (sometimes Chris feels a lot younger being around Peter for those very reasons).The latest challenge? Peter going off his suppressants and actually going through a Heat with Chris.





	As close to home

**Author's Note:**

> Petopher!? Hargent!? Whatever you call it, I love it because of Coffee-boo (she is supreme trash for this pairing). So, here's another one-shot ABO from us exploring our little head canons for this 'ship. ( ᵘ ᵕ ᵘ ⁎) 
> 
> I'm pretty sure I suggested writing this bc I wanted Peter to get fucked and this helped that along, bwaha. - Merry ♥
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : This is another merrythoughts & ReallyMissCoffee production. In case you don't know us, just a heads up: this is written first and foremost as an alternating roleplay between us which doesn't necessarily translate smoothly into an easily digestible or traditional fic format. At times we can be pretentious, repetitive and annoyingly wordy, but we're not going to change so please forgo any "constructive criticism" regarding the format. We are choosing to share our work and if you like it, you like it, if not, press the back button and try something else as we have no interest in attempting to fic-ify our stories.
> 
> Chris written by Merry ([tumblr](http://merrythought.tumblr.com)) | Peter written by ReallyMissCoffee ([tumblr](http://reallymisscoffee.tumblr.com))

So, life hasn't exactly turned out great for Chris Argent, but he's still around and kicking. He's still alive and in a world of werewolves and other supernatural shit, being alive is kind of a big deal. Not everyone has been so lucky. Chris knew from the ripe age of thirteen that he was in for a raw deal because Gerard had informed him that he wasn't free to just grow up and do as he pleased. No, Chris was going to be a hunter because he came from a long legacy and he and his sister were going to continue that.

' _Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent_.' The hunter's code had been drilled into his head for years before he met Peter Hale at seventeen. Of course, Chris hadn't known Peter was a werewolf, but it hadn't changed anything after he learned. It should have, but it hadn't. Chris had still messed around with Peter, like a fly attracted to shit, Chris had been drawn to Peter's sass and attitude. When push came to shove, Chris hadn't been able to defy his father, and in turn he hadn't been around and able to stop Kate.

Chris tries to not think about those years, about how different his life could have been. He compartmentalizes. He's good at it. Being married to Victoria had been more like a business partnership, but together they had made Allison and he wouldn't change that. Being a father had been a defining point in Chris' life, a role that he could finally be proud of.

' _We protect those who cannot protect themselves_.' His beautiful daughter's words still haunt him, a belief that she died for. At times, she feels like a phantom limb, but instead of drinking himself into a hole after her death, Peter had decided to come buzzing along. While it hadn't necessarily been easy to reunite with the werewolf (especially seeing as Peter's secondary gender, much to Peter's dismay, had been an Omega), Chris had desperately needed the distraction. 

Chris may be an Alpha, but it had been him willing to bottom for Peter that had seemed to win over the werewolf in turn. While his own instincts aren't thrilled by bottoming for anyone - an Omega included - Chris pushed past it. A little compromise and discomfort never hurt anyone and he's got a good thing going with Peter. 

It's nothing sweet and traditional, but it works for them. Peter seems less inclined to get into trouble if he's sated sexually or occasionally helping on some of Chris' hunts (and getting his claws bloody in the process). Still, that doesn't stop either of them from the challenges and taunts (sometimes Chris feels a lot younger being around Peter for those very reasons).

The latest challenge? Peter going off his suppressants and actually going through a Heat with Chris.

They're in his basement that has been remodelled for their needs. While it houses various fetish and bondage furniture and equipment, it's nothing gaudy. There's no candles or shit. It's hardwood floors and everything is of excellent quality (because Peter is a princess). 

Peter is naked and spread out on a specially made spanking bench, his ankles and wrists bound in leather cuffs that have runes engraved on them that help dampen a werewolf's strength (there _are_ perks to helping a witch out). Each cuff is attached to one of the hooks on the legs of the bench. 

Already, Chris can smell the fevered sweetness to Peter and the beginnings of slick. Chris is half-hard in his jeans that hang low on his hips. His bare feet take a step closer to Peter, his hand reaching out to pet down Peter's back. 

"There's my good Pup looking and smelling so sinfully delicious for me," Chris murmurs.

* * *

Peter doesn't like being an Omega. For the most part, he's managed to hide it and live his life as a Beta, at least as far as his secondary gender is concerned. He doubts that anyone in the pack knows - not even his nephew - and that's the way that Peter likes to keep it. He's effective as an Omega, but that doesn't stop Peter from hating the connotations usually associated with it. People meet him and assume him either an Alpha or a particularly bold Beta, and it's the impression that he prefers to leave them with. 

Chris knows. Considering the relationship they'd had when they'd been younger, it had been difficult to keep that little fact hidden, but despite the miles of heartache and violence between them, despite the violent split and the blood shed, they've somehow managed to find their way back into each other's orbit. 

Peter had been there when Allison had died, at first to taunt, and then to fuck, and it had just... continued. At first it had been in secret, but with Chris finding an outlet for his grief and Peter finding an outlet for his violence, the two of them had finally eased into each other's space with a level of comfort that they'd never had before. No one understands their interactions, how Peter's snark and sarcasm and banter can be seen as a good thing, and Chris' clipped, rough rejoinders and physicality can be affectionate, but Peter doesn't care. It works for them.

They challenge each other, push one another to do better. Though sometimes those challenges are literal, are almost taunts, and that's what finds Peter actually considering the unthinkable one morning when Chris challenges him to go off his suppressants. To 'go through a Heat' with him. 

Peter protests and dismisses it at first, because they have a dynamic and that isn't it. Chris enjoys dominance and Peter can take it, and in return, Peter is often the one fucking Chris. But it's that little fact - that Chris often goes against his instincts for him - that finally makes Peter's mind up later one night. He scowls, irritated, but does not take his suppressants.

His Heat hits a week later, and Peter wonders if Chris is as surprised as he is that it had happened so quickly. At the first sign, Peter packs an overnight bag, his skin itching and overheated, and he goes to Chris' place. All it takes is a second for Chris to smell him and then he understands, letting Peter in and leading him down into the basement.

The spanking bench is... not new, exactly, but as the rune-etched metal clamps over his ankles and wrists (padded thoughtfully for his comfort), and Peter feels the weakness wash over him, the feeling of the Heat is a little sharper under his skin. He tugs at them to test, because he always tests them, just to make sure, to lock it into his head that he's honestly trapped, and that he's allowing Chris to do this because Peter trusts him. 

With a small sigh, Peter turns his head, resting one cheek against the leather underneath him. His cock is trapped between his abdomen and the leather under him, it's uncomfortable, but he's too hard to care. 

Everything feels... more. Heightened. Peter's skin is sensitive and hot, and he can feel the gnawing ache inside - the one that tells him to find an Alpha and fix it. He shifts slightly when Chris' hand smooths down his back, arching a little into the touch with a soft breath. 

"I really should cure you of that 'Pup' thing," Peter murmurs back, though he doesn't sound too annoyed by it. He had been once. Now Peter trusts Chris and everything is different. "If I smell so good, how about doing something about it?" 

* * *

Chris has never threatened nor cared to "out" Peter as an Omega. That's nobody's business other than Peter's. He can't fault Peter for wanting to pass as anything but an Omega either. Stereotypes exist in everything and secondary genders are no exception. Chris may be an Alpha, but he's never let that dictate that he behave like an entitled asshole. Peter is far from a nurturing docile Omega, but Chris can see flickers of care that the werewolf does possess toward Derek and even himself at times.

Chris can understand the logic behind wanting to avoid a Heat. Losing control, desperation... He's never been a fan of those things and he knows it's the same for Peter. And yet, Peter hadn't let himself back down from the not-quite-dare. Peter had risen to the challenge and promptly stopped his suppressants the next day (after some cursory bitching). Of course, the rest of werewolves and co. had been kept out of the loop. Peter isn't especially too cozy with them to begin with, so Chris is sure Peter's absence won't be any cause for distress.

Chris' sense of smell will never be as good as a wolf, but he can still make out the warm sweetness clinging to Peter's normal scent of sandalwood and sage. Chris had informed Peter of the runes because consent is paramount in everything they do. Peter may not ask or check-in as often as Chris does, but Peter is able to hear his heartbeat and gauge accordingly. They may be killers, but they're not monsters.

Still, Chris is hardly surprised by the tug Peter gives to the restraints. He'd honestly be worried if Peter didn't test them out. Chris' lips twitch into a small smile as Peter retorts, his tone hardly even that derisive. Once, 'Pup' had possibly been used to rile Peter up. Now though? Not do much. Now Chris actually likes pushing Peter and putting him back together - caring for him even. 

"You're laid out before me and at my mercy, Peter. Why would I want to rush anything?" Chris asks as he comes to stand at the front of the bench, his crotch at Peter's eye-level if Peter were to lift his head up and look straight. "You can smell my arousal, can't you? Why not feel it too?" 

With that, one of Chris' hands grasps firmly at Peter's hair and he lifts his head so Peter can see the obvious hardness in his jeans. Chris then angles his hips to rub himself against Peter's face.

* * *

The Heat is like an itching under his skin, like something vaguely in the back of his mind that he can't quite remember, an itch he can't quite scratch. It's the buzz of fog in his mind and the way his senses feel both sluggish but also much sharper. It turns Peter's normally-predictable world on its head, but he's not surprised in the least that this is what Chris had wanted to see. They've always pushed one another. 

At first it had been snarling and taunts, and then it had been sexual. It had followed the same path when they'd met again, years after the fire, but everything had been heightened. More violence, more death threats and snarling, and then a slow slide into something sexual. Something that has been hinting at more for awhile.

Chris' words spark something hot under his skin, something that just adds to the unfamiliar buzzing of Heat. Peter swallows. Once, being at Chris' mercy would have had him struggling fang and claw to escape, but he's since learned that Chris' mercy is actually merciful. He checks in enough to make it obvious, at least when Peter lets him do this. Besides, maybe it's the hormones, but Peter feels an extra shiver slide through him at the idea of Chris being able to do anything. His pulse picks up and he pulls idly at the wrist cuffs again, as if to make sure.

When Chris continues, asking if Peter can smell his arousal, Peter draws in an unthinking breath. He can smell it, thick and tempting on the air. It makes something ache inside of him, makes him want to... to do something. He's not yet ready to admit that he wants to be knotted, though biology would imply that much. So when Chris distracts him by grabbing at his hair and lifting his head, Peter pulls a little out of habit, but despite the manhandling, he likes this. He looks up, his pupils a little darker, and they blow darker yet when Chris steps in close to rub his denim-covered hardness against Peter's cheek.

The scent surrounds him, and Peter's eyes close against a spike of want. He shoots Chris a lazy scowl, but it's half-hearted at best, just enough to say he had. 

"Someone is being bold. Not quite brave enough to rub against my lips, are you?" It's a lazy drawl, but Peter still manages a small smirk. Still, after a moment, he tilts his head, trying to press his cheek a bit closer. Chris does smell good, after all. Like smoke, leather, and sex.

* * *

Chris finds a certain amount of peace in engaging in domination and submission. It both calms him and gives him something to focus on. Chris had dabbled a bit while married to Victoria. They'd never been strictly monogamous, they'd never needed to be. Victoria and he were partners, both in hunting and parenting. Any sort of dalliances on the side were permissible as long as it didn't interfere with hunting or Allison. They had their own strict code and it had allowed Chris the freedom to experiment and explore. 

And Chris had learned how to read his partners, how to use his voice and words to affect them and build anticipation. He'd perfected the almost dance between pain and pleasure and how the two could blur together so perfectly. He'd become well-versed in limits, both in pushing and respecting them. It hadn't always been about sex either. The dynamic itself could be rewarding. Having his partner's trust? Providing both a safe and satisfying experience that was within his control? Yeah, that had been enjoyable to Chris.

It's been a somewhat hard-fought battle to get Peter even willing to try. It's give and take between them, always has been and likely always will be. It should be unsettling to have a such a precarious truce with a werewolf - with Peter, but it is what it is. Honestly, Chris is just too goddamn tired to care anymore. He's lost enough and hell, he has a good time with Peter. 

Peter is giving him a rare gift. It's not lost on Chris either. Peter is putting himself through a marked discomfort and loss of control. Chris can't fuck this up. As much as his own instincts are egging him on to rush and take, Chris hadn't been lying - he doesn't want to rush this.

He's not necessarily rubbing his clothed hard-on to demean Peter. No, Chris is letting Peter bask in his scent and to see how affected he is by this. The taunt is expected and Peter isn't wrong. Peter is not always gentle or exceedingly careful with fangs or claws. He doesn't want Peter to take a chomp down there. 

"If I rub against your lips you wouldn't be able to be a brat and talk back as easy," Chris replies blandly as he rubs more firmly against Peter's cheek and pulls Peter's hair to allow him to feel the slight sting. Peter likes to talk and give commentary and gags have always been out of the question for that very reason. It's a concession that Chris makes for Peter (and maybe he kind of likes Peter's penchant for his mouth running away with him). 

* * *

Peter has always been drawn to Chris' scent. In their youth, blind and ignorant and stupid as they'd been, he hadn't understood the scent of gunpowder or wolfsbane because he'd never come across them before. In time, he'd learned, but Chris' natural scent had always drawn him in, much to his chagrin. It's thick and heady, like something dark and rich on the back of his tongue. 

Peter's never said as much because he does have some pride in himself, and letting Chris know feels like the quickest way to a taunting little smirk. Still, Chris must know in some capacity, because there's command and strength in the way he tightens his grip in Peter's hair and rubs his clothed dick against Peter's cheek.

The scent is thick and tempting, and Peter can't deny the way that something inside of him lurches in want. His pulse quickens - both at the firm tug to his hair (which he does like) and the scent marking - and Peter lets his eyes slide closed briefly. It's a quick concession, something that proves that he is being affected despite his casual sarcasm. The ache inside feels like it's steadily growing under his skin, itching and ill-fitted and wanting something more that only increases the longer that Chris keeps him in place.

Peter shifts slightly, or tries to. His cock aches uncomfortably where it's trapped between him and the bench, and as padded as the cuffs are, they still tug a little when he tugs at them. (No surprise.) It is... an interesting feeling, not having the strength to escape but still having his senses. Chris dabbling in rune-play hadn't been expected, and it had taken ages to get Peter to agree to try. It's still new, still a little unsettling, but Chris hasn't pressed his advantage too far, and Peter thinks he's all right with Chris manhandling him. He might like it.

"And we both know you love the sound of my voice," Peter drawls back. He tries to press closer, tries to turn his head enough to get a better scent, but the tightness of Chris' fingers in his hair keeps him from being able to. The knowledge sends a fresh ache through him and Peter grimaces a little as he feels slick beginning to gather. It's not exactly a pleasant feeling, but it says enough. 

"Are you going to ask me to suck you off, or are you going to keep teasing?"

* * *

Even though this is something Chris greatly enjoys and definitely doesn't take for granted, there is a pounding within his skull to hurry the fuck up and become a ravenous thing with Peter. Peter has never smelled so fucking delicious to him. There's a sweetness to his scent, almost cloying but somehow it never veers into that territory. 

Peter has produced slick before of course, but this time the scent is heightened or more intense. A very real part of Chris wants to lose himself in Peter, to undo every single cuff and take him to the large bed in the corner of the room and wrap his body around Peter's. He doesn't even know if Peter would allow such a thing. Anything resembling cuddling or affection usually occurs after they're fuck-tired and physically exhausted.

Chris has no plans on undoing the cuffs and taking Peter to bed - at least not this early in the night. Peter's Heat has barely set in. He wants to work Peter up and get him absolutely soaking and a mess. This could very well be the only Heat that Peter goes through with him, and Chris isn't going to take it for granted. Chris knows how easy it is to have lives extinguished far too early. He's lost family and friends to this life and perhaps Peter isn't the best representation of a safe and good werewolf let alone a person, but Chris can't be bothered to care about that. After everything, it's just nice to find an outlet for frustration and connection through sex.

He's getting harder, both from the rubbing to Peter's cheek and the scent of Peter's own arousal and slick. It's not entirely comfortable for his dick to be constrained by his jeans (as he's wearing no boxers), but Chris thinks the slight discomfort can help him focus. It also creates a power differential with Peter being the only one fully naked and on display. 

Peter's assertion is true. While gags and a quiet and obedient partner can be fun, Chris does like Peter's voice and show of spirit. Peter wouldn't be Peter if he wasn't giving some sort of sarcastic or sassy quip. The temptation of a blowjob from Peter is very real as Peter generally likes to show off, but this isn't about his own pleasure right now. And Chris thinks that Peter attempting to turn his head is about something else. 

"You do have a lovely mouth," Chris praises and with his fingers still tight in Peter's hair, he brings Peter's face to the line of his cock through his jeans. If Peter strains, he could bump his nose or rub his mouth against it. "But I've only just begun on my teasing, Pup."

* * *

This isn't something that Peter does. True, their dynamic has always been varied, from violence to tight-lipped care. Peter's clawed gouges into Chris' side before, and been shot in return, but he's also sat on the edge of Chris' bed, sewing him up after a bad hunt and quietly seeping away some of his pain. They don't talk about it often, and when they do, it's cursory, but it's been getting less dismissive over time and Peter doesn't know how he feels about that. 

It feels... dangerous. Just like letting Chris use the rune-cuffs on him for the first time. But when nothing bad had happened, he'd allowed it again later, and steadily they've built up to this. 

This still isn't natural for Peter, though many would argue that it should be. He doesn't submit fully, and while he does both get off on and admire Chris' more dominating tendencies, Peter wouldn't call himself submissive by any stretch. This - going off of his suppressants, letting Chris restrain him - is a first, but while it feels awkward, it doesn't feel wrong.

The grip in his hair tightens and twists, and Peter grunts softly in the back of his throat. Before he can reply, Chris maneuvers him differently and Peter's senses are suddenly flooded with his scent. He stills and feels his cock ache, but more than that, feels the restless need climb higher yet as heat slides under his skin. Peter swallows, and a part of him does want to hold off on basic principle, but his instincts are snarling at him for more. An old voice in his head hisses that giving in equates to weakness, but with Chris' scent so close, Peter seems to struggle with himself for a moment. Then, finally, he does move.

It's a bit of a struggle, but when he manages to brush his lips against the outline of Chris' cock through his jeans, Peter allows himself a soft groan, dragging in his scent. Oddly, he doesn't really feel like he's lost anything. 

"So that's your game?" His voice sounds a little dazed to his ears, but it's still got a bit of a drawl. It's enough. "Play with my senses, work me up, until I... _beg_?"

* * *

Possessing discipline is something that Chris prides himself on. He's had decades of perfecting it both in personal and professional matters. Gerard had been more of a taskmaster than a father to them. Growing up, both Kate and he had been enrolled in various survival classes. Their upbringing had them complying with schedules and rigorous training for weapons, skills and fighting. Chris remembers being angry about it, about the lack of choice and freedom, but it doesn't matter now.

He has discipline to not give in to Peter. Peter is temptation personified. Not only is it the Heat, but Peter willing, once more, to submit to him. Submitting is a show of trust, a sign of good faith and Chris doesn't take it lightly. There is no guarantee that Peter will do it again. Peter is distrustful and for good reason. Chris' damn sister had caused such a mess that the idea that he and Peter can be in the same room let alone being sexual together is a testament of how far they've come. 

Chris can both see and smell what happens when he brings Peter's face that much closer to his dick. He sees Peter pause and consider what's being offered. Chris smells Peter's arousal increase too, the need steadily climbing higher (and he knows that it's only going to get worse). 

There is tension in Peter's muscles as he tries to struggle against his own desire to come closer, but he does eventually give in and Chris feels a smile more than shows it. Chris' head is snapping down as soon as Peter inches forward and Peters mouth brushes against the outline of Chris' cock. Chris can barely feel it but the visual is arousing enough. 

The questions aren't unsurprising. They're Peter's way of trying to scrounge for some control as he's trying to prepare for what's going to happen. It's nothing new. 

"This isn't a game," Chris says dismissively as he holds Peter's head still, his fingers curling tighter as he now nudges his clothed cock against Peter's mouth and rubs. "This is going to escalate and the words may not come out of your mouth, but your body will beg." 

Chris slowly releases Peter's head, his hand coming to rest below Peter's nape as he steps to the side. A moment later, Chris' other hand lifts and his index finger smoothes down Peter's spine, down the dip of his back and then stopping at the beginning of Peter's asscrack. 

"Check in. Color?"

* * *

Admittedly scrounging for control is something that Peter tends to do in abundance. That Chris doesn't really bend and give in to him is no great surprise, but Peter still feels better for having said it. Old habits die hard, and while this position isn't natural to him - at least in his mind - Chris seems to have the common sense not to take it to mean that Peter is unwilling. 

Besides, this close to Chris' dick, Peter can smell it when Chris' arousal climbs. He glances up just enough to see that he's being watched, and the realization sends a trickle of heat further through him. Call him an exhibitionist, but he likes being watched. And with Chris' fingers tightening in his hair and the slow drag of Chris' clothed dick moving purposefully over his mouth, Peter feels that ache of need grow even greater. 

Much to his reluctant acknowledgement, it's Chris' words that really hit him low and hot, though. Chris isn't the type of man to rely on cookie-cutter talk often found in porn. When he says something, or implies it, it's done with intent, and Peter can respect that. So hearing that Chris expects his body to be the one to beg... the shiver of desire that prickles over his skin is entirely unbidden, as is the way he fails to entirely bite back a small groan when Chris finally releases his hair. He compensates by pressing close to Peter's nape (which is both cheating and makes him shift a little restlessly against the bench) and the slow trail of Chris' finger down his spine has Peter's focus following it.

But it's that simple little thing - Chris suddenly halting and insisting on a check in - that makes something unwind in Peter's chest. He doesn't want to like it, but something more than just his instincts are grateful for the moment of consideration. He feels some of the tension leaving his muscles unbidden, and he moves to turn his head, resting his cheek against the bench as best as he can. He can only see Chris if he strains, but it's enough. 

"You're incessant with your consent," Peter mutters, and it's intended to sound a little judgmental, but the Heat and relief he feels make it sound much more genuine than he'd meant it to. He can't really be bothered to be upset. He appreciates the consideration, especially given the vulnerability of this position. "Green. Restless, but green."

* * *

Peter may be able to hold off from verbally begging. If anyone could manage it, Chris is certain it would be Peter Hale. But Peter's body is going to demand satiation and it's going to demand it hard. It's going to writhe desperately until its pleased and full of a knot - _his_ knot. Hormones and biology dictate the response. It might be in half an hour or it might be three, but Peter's need will only rise and Chris plans on both getting to that point and taking care of the pressing issue.

This is an endeavor they've started together. From Chris' initial challenge to here, this is an undertaking for both of them. Chris may be taking up the mantle of being dominant for this evening, but it doesn't mean Peter is any less than him or his comfort in all areas isn't important to Chris.

It is. And although Peter may try and make fun of him for checking in, Chris won't stop or take it back. Considering his partner's state - emotional and physical - will always be paramount for Chris. Doing this isn't about him getting what he wants at the cost of Peter's enjoyment. Peter may not label himself submissive, but they've had some good times and Chris wants those good times to continue. And anyway, Chris can see Peter relax some, tension draining from Peter's body as the werewolf settles. The little defiant mutter brings a fond smile to Chris' lips - it doesn't last long, but it _had_ been there.

"Restless and green. Good," Chris echoes back approvingly. He takes a step further back while his finger slides in-between Peter's ass and down. There is slick, but it's not an ample amount. Yet. The tip of Chris' finger rubs lightly over Peter's hole. 

"I'm not going to crouch down and eat you out until you give me something worth licking, baby... I need you more wet."

* * *

It's taken them a long damn time to get to this point. Taunting, bitterness, betrayal, bloodshed, and even death, and yet as Peter turns his hands in their binds and feels the padded cuffs drag slightly against the skin of his wrists, he knows that he wouldn't be consenting to this for anyone else. While Peter can't directly see Chris' smile when it shows up, he can see that Chris' expression has changed briefly. 

Given the way his pulse evens and the scent of something akin to approval, he knows that Chris is smiling and something instinctual settles inside. So does something less instinctual, but that's not something that Peter's willing to dwell on considering the growing Heat under his skin. 

He might not have had many Heats in his life, but he knows enough about them to know some of the less-desirable symptoms, and heightened sensitivity and emotions tend to be two of them. There's a reason that Heat-drunk is a common phrase. Yet as Chris steps out of Peter's line of sight and Peter lets out a low sound of mild irritation, he knows that he's not quite as unaffected as he'd like to be. 

The slow slide of Chris' finger isn't quite a shock, but the sensation of it as it passes over Peter's hole is. He's not dripping, but he can feel the burn of desire under his skin. The touch - the slow rub - only lights that fire brighter under Peter's skin and he twitches unbidden, fingers pressing harder against the solid legs of the bench he's bound to. It's an odd sensation; Peter doesn't often crave anything of the sort, but it's definitely on his mind now. It's... as unsettling as it is necessary. He makes a small sound, tighter, restless, and he doesn't realize that he's started trying to press back until he feels the gentle bite of the cuffs against his wrists. 

Any uncertainty he feels is quickly dashed at what Chris says, however. The pet name is... unexpected. It ekes out occasionally, usually when Peter's too distracted to notice, but he notices this time. It's not 'Pup', and it's not even slightly condescending, and that's... new. After a moment, he thinks he likes it, but it's the implication that has truly caught his attention. 

The thought of Chris kneeling and spreading him open to eat him out? The thought of facial hair scratching against his skin, and Chris' attention focused where it had been sensitive even to touch? Peter curses roughly, the sound almost a growl, and wetness gathers around Chris' finger unbidden. Hearing the pet name combined with the pseudo-threat? Apparently he likes that. 

"Guess you're going to have to work for it," Peter says, voice still a little rough, but comfortable. He wets his lips. "Fuck, Chris. Or would you rather 'sir'? 'Alpha'? So many choices."

* * *

Maybe Chris couldn't stand up to Gerard back when he was in high school. Maybe Chris let himself get pushed into an arranged marriage. A lot in his life had been decided for him, but everything he did or that happened to him, it's shaped him into the man he is today. This is what he believes and maybe he's not a good man. He's certain other hunters believe him a joke as he's cavorting with werewolves (and they aren't even aware what he's been doing with Peter). But Chris has learned that things aren't so black and white - he doesn't want it to be so black and white. 

He mostly likes Peter. He enjoys their time together - at least enough of it. Peter is difficult to manage at times. Peter can be demanding and uppity, but Chris knows he's not necessarily a walk in the park either. Sometimes the grief hits him hard and it pulls him down into a bottle. While Peter isn't the type to offer a shoulder to cry on, he'll force his way into Chris' space and offer a distraction. Sometimes a distraction is actually better. 

It works. They work. And now they're here. They've made it to this point that Peter trusts him enough to be restrained by a hunter and go through a Heat. Right now, with Chris' finger rubbing slowly over Peter's hole, they're two men, not hunter and potential prey. Chris hears the antsy sound that Peter makes, he sees and feels Peter attempting to push back, and it only has Chris harder in his jeans. 

The threat or maybe the idea of what's going to come about is enough to rile Peter up some. Peter curses and slick gathers around Chris' finger. Chris _does_ plan on working for it. Peter takes work in general. When Peter asks about titles, Chris huffs out half a laugh. It may be tempting to have Peter show him some respect with a title like sir or Alpha, but Peter is already doing so much for him. Chris doesn't require it.

"I think 'Chris' is fine," he answers plainly. With other partners Chris has enjoyed _sir_ but it wouldn't be the same. "And I'm not afraid to do a little work. You've never been an easy pursuit, have you?" Chris goes on as his finger circles Peter's hole. Just this close, Peter smells like the perfect sin. Chris lets his middle finger join, teasing to push in but never breaching Peter. Chris alternates between rubbing and tapping to vary the sensations for Peter, all the while encouraging Peter to produce more slick.

* * *

There's a lot that one could infer from the fact that Peter had accepted Chris' challenge. Stopping his suppressants, going into Heat based on a simple challenge? Even Peter knows that that sort of logic is faulty at best, but they've always done best while issuing challenges. A challenge is easier than a request. It's taunting and playful, or it's leading and firm, and either way it tends to make the both of them bend. 

Peter's challenged Chris before on multiple occasions, and this is Chris returning the serve. In the back of Peter's mind, he knows that challenging Chris to go against his instincts and submit for him isn't something just any Alpha would do for a challenge, and Chris must know that to a man like Peter - who hasn't had a Heat in decades, and who values control above everything - going into Heat isn't something he'd do for anyone. But those thoughts are a slippery slope to more, and right now, Peter's still caught on what Chris had suggested.

It's no secret (though sometimes they pretend like it is) that Peter likes the scratch of Chris' stubble over his skin. He's a man of extremes. While a slow seduction is sometimes what he wants, more often Peter will push for clear sensation. 

Bites, scratching, cold (but never heat), varied sensation? That's what he wants. And Chris knows it. Just the thought of Chris getting on his knees is enough to make Peter's pulse beat quicker, but the thought of his tongue, of the scratch of his beard? That has slick gathering under Chris' fingers. And given the way that Chris is using them - small taps and rubs and teasing - he knows what Peter wants.

The words have Peter letting out a soft sound, a breathless little laugh that cuts off when Chris' fingers press against him and come close to pressing inside, but stop at the last second. A restless energy prickles under his skin, his Heat taking notice, and when Peter shifts again, it's in a not-so-subtle attempt to push back. He wets dry lips and turns his head, pressing his cheek to the bench, and Chris' fingers keep working, keep teasing, keep tapping into Peter's instincts in a way that should be irritating but only makes him feel more and more restless. It isn't too long before Chris' fingers are clearly growing damp with slick.

"You don't like 'easy'," Peter murmurs, and while there's a curl of amusement in his voice, it's also thick with growing desire. "You like a challenge. We both do. Come on, Chris. You want a taste, I know you do."

* * *

Peter's Heat is not yet crashing upon him, but there is no telling when it will begin to ramp up. For now, Chris can tease and take it slower. He can enjoy every small twitch and reaction. Teasing and slow aren't exactly Peter's favorite things, but a little compromise never hurt anyone. After all, when Chris has allowed Peter to fuck him, it's definitely a compromise. It's Chris staunchly ignoring what his instincts are trying to scream at him. Chris doesn't care for anyone or anything trying to define who he is and what he should do, not even his own biology or hormones. 

At first it had felt distinctly wrong to be on his hands and knees and allowing Peter to fuck him. He'd had to grit his teeth and breathe through it. But that had simply been how Chris' brain interpreted the change. Now Chris knows it just feels different and different isn't necessarily bad either. Months later, Chris can actually get into it and he finds a strange enjoyment in Peter's werewolf strength overpowering him.

There is no disguising that Peter's body is hungry for touch and attention as it attempts to push back against his fingers. And his fingers feel the wetness increasing, the smell of sweeter slick being produced. It's tempting to forgo the teasing, to go to his knees and lick and take, but it's Peter's almost-goading that focuses his resolve. Chris' touch lightens, just barely rubbing now against Peter's gleaming hole. 

"I think you want me to taste," Chris states. "I also think you could ask, couldn't you?"

Chris nudges just the tip of his finger inside, thrusting it slowly but never advancing it much further.

* * *

Peter's expecting that to be it. This is uncharted territory between them, but there are certain biological markers that he's banking on. His body might be screaming at him to present and to get knotted, but if his body is snarling that, Chris' can't be so unaffected either. He's never seen Peter in Heat before, but he's got the same instincts as any Alpha. The scent of an Omega in Heat will prompt certain desires, and while Peter might grow desperate, so will Chris. He's banking on that, on the increase of slick and the prompting to be enough to get him what he wants.

He forgets, at that moment, that Chris is not only a Hunter, but has set his instincts aside for Peter before. Peter is very quickly reminded when the touch lightens and the bastard goads him right back. Chris has the self-control of a saint, and Peter half-wants to growl at him, but the light, fleeting touch has the ache inside climbing to be sated, and it takes every ounce of effort Peter has to not push back.

Chris is right, after all. He does want Chris to taste. If his finger feels this good just teasing, he can't imagine what Chris' tongue would feel like now. Peter's muscles tense as he holds himself in check, but he can feel sweat breaking out along his back, and when he twists his wrists in the cuffs again, the fact that he truly can't break out of them only makes the desperation climb. 

He feels like he's at Chris' mercy now, and it's... interesting. Peter can feel restlessness itching under his skin, but when he suddenly feels Chris' finger push in just a little bit, the sensitivity makes Peter twitch and bite back a gasp. Chris begins to thrust, slow, aching movements, and Peter wonders how badly he needs his pride.

He decides that he can relent, just a bit. With a low groan and a bitten-back curse, Peter tries to push back again. He does not, however, abandon his sarcasm. "Chris, I swear--... If you would be so kind, be a dear and indulge a little?" 

It's not a 'please'.

* * *

Chris isn't expecting Peter to beg. Peter doesn't beg, and nor does Chris for that matter. A polite 'please' isn't begging, at least not according to Chris. Is he expecting Peter to say please though? No, not really. Patience has never been a strong suit for Peter when he's on the receiving end, but Chris can admit that this is hardly the time to demand patience either. Peter is in Heat and even Chris can feel himself getting pulled at harder and harder, his instincts demanding to indulge and be gluttonous with a willing Omega who's in Heat.

The smell and feel of Peter's slick is practically calling to him like a rhythmic inviting beat of a drum. Just slipping the tip of his finger inside is heavenly. It's heat enveloping his finger, a wet welcome. Chris knows what it feels like to fuck Peter, but it has been a while. 

Peter likes to make him wait, to hold it above Chris like a taunt. Chris can't blame him. If the situations were reversed, he'd probably do the same. While it may be untraditional and rather frowned upon, an Alpha can bottom and Chris does. In a way, it feels good to be in control of his instincts. 

Chris isn't sadistic in his enjoyment of Peter straining and getting worked up. He notes the muscle tension, the emergence of sweat. Chris watches Peter test the cuffs again when Chris' finger gently pushes in and makes itself known, Peter's response - a groan, a curse, and then a telling attempt to push back - brings a pleased smile to Chris' face. His Pup sure needs it. The sarcasm may not be forgotten, but the desperation is evident in Peter's words. 

Chris' free hand gives one of Peter's asscheeks a little slap. "I will be so kind," he states simply, but lowly. It's both a promise and a threat. As Chris gets to his knees, he pushes the entirety of his finger inside Peter's body. 

"I'm going to taste my Pup and take such good care of him." Chris doesn't let himself get caught up on the c-word (care). He slips out his finger, spreads Peter's slick cheeks open and lets his tongue lick lightly over Peter's hole.

* * *

Any other moment and Peter would likely be enjoying the inherent game in this, but Heat has never been a variable before. It adds an extra level of sensation, of desperation, and in a sense it's almost irritating. Peter is typically the one 'in control', as ridiculous a notion as that is between men like them. Even with Peter's hand around the metaphorical leash, Chris is no wilting violet, and they both know it. It's a comfortable game of banter and challenge, but this changes the ante. Peter doesn't regret it despite the burning itch under his skin, but it takes some of the edge out of his quips and injects more desperation into them than he's used to. 

Chris must notice. Peter can't see his smile, but he scents the momentary satisfaction on the air anyway. Like this, with Heat building inside of him, he feels like he could close his eyes and block off most of his senses and still be able to sense everything about Chris. His instincts are connected, and it's... new. 

The light spank is weak, more acknowledgment than anything, but before Peter can mention it, he hears Chris begin to slide down onto his knees. Peter's pulse jumps in anticipation, and that alone would have been enough, but then Chris' finger is pushing into him in its entirety. 

He jerks, instinctively clenching down with a rough gasp, and just like that, it's different. Peter feels his Heat spike, feels the prickle of it all the way to his nape, and his eyes flicker blue like a shorting wire as his claws nick a small groove out of the bench. 

Chris' finger draws back, and Peter hisses a curse of negation. Distantly he registers the words - _Pup_ (he'll protest it later) and _care_ (which feels much more insidious) - but then Peter feels the rough scratch of Chris' beard and the wet warmth of a tongue and the words don't matter. He growls deep in his throat, a sound not-even-slightly human, and instead of jerking at the cuffs, his claws just dig into the wood under his fingers. 

"Fuck, Chris," he manages, voice rough, as he feels arousal gather hot in his stomach. 

He's dripping from the mere tease by now, and distantly Peter thinks that cuffing him to the bench was likely a good idea. Chris is still human, after all, and Peter has claws. A desperate Omega is not always a gentle one.

* * *

There's nothing unsatisfied in Chris with being on his knees and his face buried between glistening asscheeks. Like this, the scent of Peter's slick and Heat is nearly overwhelming. It's intense and welcoming and the very best possible temptation. Like this, the grief and bullshit and bad memories are kicked to the wayside. 

Nothing is "fixed," but that's fine; Chris isn't looking for himself or his situation to be fixed. Certain things remain broken because certain traumas you just don't "get over." But that doesn't mean he's rolled over and given up and Chris thinks it's the same for Peter.

The first lick tastes divine. The slick is sweeter than normal, but not cloying and Chris feels his dick strain in his jeans. He wants to go all out, to feast and pleasure Peter, but Chris still doesn't want to rush this especially knowing how he may never have this chance again. Hearing the sound Peter makes and how the expletive and his name together makes Chris give a growl of his own, possessive and pleased. 

Chris licks broadly, his fingers digging into Peter's ass to keep him spread enough for this endeavor. A few more slower slides of his tongue and then he's lapping up at the slick there, in shorter quick licks over Peter's puffy hole. Having Peter at his mercy isn't taken for granted and while Chris may not be rushing, he's still going to ensure that this is a pleasurable experience for Peter. 

It's imperative that positive associations are formed or Peter likely won't consent in the future. And really, Chris may like being dominant, but he's never cared for acts of sadism. He licks, a few times having to slurp at the excess slick before kissing at Peter's hole almost lovingly.

* * *

This isn't something that Peter does. This isn't something that Peter allows other people to do. Chris is an anomaly, but he's consistent. He's been a persistent presence in Peter's life for decades now. Maybe it hasn't always been healthy, and maybe they're not good men, but Chris is familiar and real, and even if this isn't something that Peter would permit anyone else to talk him into, Chris is different. He'd never admit it, perhaps not even under pain of death (though maybe; he does have remarkable self-preservation) but despite their dysfunctional nature, Peter does trust him, at least with this. 

Each slow lick of Chris' tongue sends heat skittering under Peter's skin, and after being teased and made to wait, it's good. He can distantly applaud the effort that Chris went through to get him to this point, despite his frustration, but it's worth it. It's all heat and focused attention, and the pass of Chris' tongue over where Peter's body is already beginning to ache with need. It's like a restless itch under his skin finally being tended to. Even though it won't be enough, it still feels good, still wrenches a small-but-rough sound from his throat as he presses his cheek to the bench and struggles against pushing back.

Chris isn't conservative with it, licking broad and slow, savoring, and then moving to lap up the slick that Peter knows he must have been producing. The wet sounds are obscene, but hearing Chris slurp sends a sharp, heated shiver over Peter's skin. He's breathing harder, and with so much focused attention over his hole, he can feel the fever of his Heat filling him up the way his body wishes Chris would. It'd be humiliating, but there's nothing in Chris' heartbeat or in his scent that indicates that he isn't also loving this. 

"Getting a good taste? Drinking in your fill?" Peter asks, his voice a lazier, hotter drawl as he struggles with the urge to press back. He knows he can't, and that tension is burning under his skin. "How do I taste?"

* * *

Chris' jeans are tight and uncomfortable. He needs to re-arrange his dick, but he knows that that's not important right now. The slight discomfort can be tolerated. Chris wants to nearly lose himself in this task, in the scent and wetness of Peter's desperation. He relishes how he can feel Peter straining to push back and while the restraints aren't exceedingly tight, the range of motion that Peter can get is very limited. Chris doesn't need his control to be ironclad. Frankly, being made aware that Peter is _into_ something and seeking it out is rewarding.

Peter's body wants to be fucked and then knotted. This, if anything, is just lightly scratching an itch. It won't satisfy Peter, but it will tide him over for a duration. It should also fan the flames higher. Chris doesn't lick to tease now. He licks to pleasure Peter, to taste and indulge. This isn't the first time he's messed around with an Omega in Heat, but this is _Peter_ and it's _their_ first time. It's different. Special, even and Chris wants to ensure that it's more than adequate. 

The questions posed to him has Chris growling and moving to actually nip at a pert asscheek. He licks at his lips, his beard a glistening mess from Peter. 

"You taste like the fruit offered to Eve," Chris answers, voice ragged with exertion and arousal. With that stated, he returns to the task and it's not long before he's fucking into Peter with his tongue, delighting in the loosening of Peter's hole, but also how it clenches around him hungrily and slutty. 

He works Peter up, alternating between his tongue sliding inside to circling Peter's hole just with the tip. He drinks his fill and when Peter's grown antsier, he pulls back, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm before he's pressing his fingers inside. The need to fuck Peter is burning white hot inside of Chris, but he's going to make sure he has Peter in as many ways as possible before that. 

* * *

Peter can tell the precise moment that Chris decides to give him a fraction of what he wants. The soft, kittenish licks that have been sending heat lancing up his spine like fire pause, and there's a breath in that space between licks where Peter feels a marked change of tension on the air. He doesn't really understand in the moment, but when Chris leans back in and Peter feels the broad, pointed lick of Chris' tongue over his hole, he _feels_ the sudden difference. 

It's sharp, hot, and full, and even though Peter doesn't intend to make any sound, the half-growl wrenches itself from the depths of his throat before he's had the chance to quell it. He feels the urge to arch, to press back, to spread his legs wider, but none of it is possible. And when Chris draws back to murmur rough filth against his skin, Peter feels his entire body shudder in an unexpected surge of heat.

A small part of Peter wants to remain silent, wants to guard any vocalizations like they're the bonds in the vault, locked away for safekeeping and safer spending. But when he feels the rough scratch of Chris' beard and the sudden hot press of Chris' tongue slide _inside_ of him, Peter's soft, almost whispered, "oh, fuck," is so honest and real that it feels a little like he's lost something. Thankfully, if Chris hears, he doesn't dwell. Instead, though it's not what Peter's body needs, he gives Peter what he'd been silently aching for.

It takes him time to realize that he's not being as quiet as he'd thought, soft, bitten-off moans or curses escaping him as Chris fucks him with his tongue. Peter can feel the fire of his Heat burning brighter inside of him, and as Chris drinks down his slick (a thought that makes Peter's body clench in arousal) more rushes quickly to take its place. 

It's a slow, torturous affair, working him up expertly. Chris backs off when he's beginning to get close to the edge, and he presses in deep when Peter's _almost_ aware enough to bite something out to encourage him. Honestly, it reeks of being _known_ , and later maybe Peter will be horrified over that. He's too caught in this to care now, too hot, his muscles tight with need and skin flushed deeply. 

He's on the edge of snapping something back, _anything_ to get Chris moving, when Chris' tongue is suddenly gone and replaced almost in the next breath with his fingers. The deep press of them, the stretch of it, and the feel of having something inside of him cuts Peter's curse off halfway with a rough, choked-out shout. He's honestly more embarrassed about the way his body clenches and slick smears across his skin, but it's a near thing. He's not used to being so... unpolished. 

"Fuck, Chris," he manages to grind out, and he's only half-surprised by how rough his voice sounds. "Come on. Harder, I need it." Peter's wrists twist in their cuffs, restless.

* * *

Slick and spit glisten around the two fingers that Chris has inside of Peter. He can still taste Peter on his tongue, the honeyed slick warm, sweet and ever so inviting. Chris feels like he could get drunk on it, like he could lick and fuck the source of it for _hours_ and maybe he will later. But for now, he wants keep the activities varied and while he knows that he could and likely should get Peter off once just to take the edge off, Chris has no plans on allowing that to happen.

He's going to work his Pup up until he's fucking desperate and _begging_ to be fucked and knotted. If this is the only opportunity to indulge in Peter's Heat, Chris is going to ensure Peter is thoroughly wrecked and that Peter will be broken down only to be rebuilt by him.

It's already happening. The attitude is slowly dissipating and being replaced with vocalizations of pleasure, with Peter's body straining. While Peter is hardly silent when they fool around, he's usually more contained. Chris doesn't want that right now. No, he wants Peter spilling out and vibrant, like how he is on a hunt with him - raw and dangerous.

He does fuck Peter harder with his fingers, but it's done _slow_ and precise.The sound of his fingers plunging in deep and rough is obscene, the slick copious and dripping down Peter's thighs.Chris occasionally brushes against Peter's prostate and gets him shaking, but never does it for long. He skirts the edge multiple times but Peter doesn't fall over. Another finger joins in as Chris straightens and stands, his other palm braced on the small of Peter's back.

Three fingers fuck Peter ruthlessly, the muscles on Chris' arm straining, but he doesn't relent. His cock is throbbing, absolutely so ready to push into the sweltering and sopping heat of Peter, but Chris just clenches his jaw. He's determined to get what he wants.

* * *

Peter feels like he's burning up. It's like licks of fire under his skin - a sensation he knows all too well - but unlike the agony of years ago, this is only metaphorical. It's heat and sweltering need, but it's not suffocating, it's not enough to make him tap out. He's not done it before, and he's not going to start now, even if desperation is a state that he has long since passed. 

Chris, much as Peter vows to never tell him this, is a _very_ precise and exacting man. Peter has his pride, and he has the inherent Hale stubbornness, and yet Chris has built a life out of ruthlessly getting his own way, be it through compromise or brutality. In a way, this feels like both, because there is _no_ way that a human - Alpha or not - should have this level of patience or determination. Peter's long-prided himself on being immovable, invulnerable to coercion, but as Chris' fingers fuck into him hard but so damnably _slow_ , he can feel desperation bubbling under his skin. 

He's stubborn, his teeth gritted, the muscles in his shoulders bunching as he pulls at the bindings - though not in a way that indicates he wants this to stop. A few times, Peter manages to regain his composure, but then a pointed twist of Chris' fingers has them glancing over his prostate, merciless, pushing him high enough that he's _almost_ at the edge, and then it stops. 

Once is maddening enough. Twice has him panting, his muscles twitching with oversensitivity. Three times has his lungs burning, and there's less restraint on the sounds he's making, his cock trapped between his abdomen and the bench, but Peter can feel the wetness of precome sticking to his skin. Four has him biting his lip to bleeding, and snapping out rough threats and curses, slick dripping down his thighs and the thrusts of Chris' fingers harder to compensate.

He doesn't know how many times it's been when Chris gets to his feet, when a hand presses firmly and possessively along his back. Peter's skin is slick with sweat, flushed with Heat, and the aching curl of need is almost suffocating. The pressure against his back strikes something primal in him, something desperate, but he still only growls with shaky determination that has steadily been crumbling ever since Chris' fingers had curled that first time. 

This doesn't feel like a matter of pride anymore. As Peter drags in each breath, it feels like pride is a thin victory compared to what Chris wants. Later, maybe, he'll be furious with himself, but when Chris' fingers angle towards his prostate again and work hard enough that his back begins to arch, Peter finally cries out, lip curled in a snarl of desperation. He _aches,_ and it's a delicious, maddening hurt.

" _Please!_ " Peter bites it out like a curse, like ripping an arrow out of his skin, and the worst is over. " _Fuck_ , please, just _fuck me_ already!"

* * *

If Peter would allow it, Chris would murmur encouragements. He'd lavish the werewolf with praise because even Peter deserves support in this.

Peter wouldn't have it, though. Chris knows this, so he doesn't try and calm or reassure Peter in this. Peter struggles. Peter threatens him. Curses at him. But Chris stays quiet, certain that his own determination will win out in the end (biology dictates that Peter will break first, after all). 

This _does_ rankle his own instincts because there is a very real part of Chris that actually _wants_ to provide for the Omega bound on his bench. But they are more than the sum of their parts. Instincts may push and pull, but Chris is practiced in self-restraint. Gerard had been an exacting parent, after all.

Chris doesn't placate Peter. No, he works him up, focused and fixated as his fingers fuck into his Pup. Peter's scent does gradually change, each time he's brought to the edge and left to dangle, the desperation only climbs. 

When Peter finally breaks, his voice sharp and demanding, Chris' wrist is beginning to cramp. A slow smile spreads on his face as he slides his fingers out. They're dripping in slick.

Peter is a beautiful mess - sweaty, wrung out and now waiting for Chris' dick. Peter's begged and done so well. 

"See, that wasn't so difficult," Chris rumbles as his palm rubs down the swell of one asscheek. Now more than ever does the urge to compliment Peter rear its head, but Chris doesn't want to antagonize Peter any further. Instead, his dry hand comes to undo his button and fly. He simply slips his cock out, not bothering to remove his jeans. His wet fingers rub the excess slick on himself.

"Don't worry, I'll give you what you need, baby," is all Chris says before steadying his cock and drawing near to Peter's waiting, wet hole.

Chris could tease, he could rub his cockhead down Peter's wet cleft, he could brush the tip against Peter's entrance.

But Chris doesn't. He doesn't need lube and he doesn't need spit, Peter has enough slick to facilitate Chris pushing his cock straight in and that's what Chris does. His hands are braced on Peter's hips as his own hips move forward and sweltering heat wraps around his cock. 

"So perfect for me, Peter," Chris does murmur, uncaring if the praise bothers Peter now. Once inside, Chris doesn't need an invitation. He begins fucking Peter in short thrusts.

* * *

He lost. Later, the thought will likely rankle, might make him disappear for a week or so to lick his wounds before meeting Chris again on another hunt, but between calling it quits and giving in, Peter knows this is better. He'd passed 'green' a long time ago, and he'd edged so far into 'yellow' that it had been bordering on 'red'. Despite Chris' insistence, despite his exacting control, Peter knows that he would have expected honesty had he asked for yet another damn check-in, so giving in is the lesser evil. Peter would rather give in than give _up_ , even if giving in is complicated.

Peter doesn't need to look to sense Chris' pleasure. He can practically scent it as Chris carefully draws his fingers back and then strokes his hand along Peter's ass. The issue is that even that touch feels almost too sensitive; everything has narrowed down to a few fixed points, and the gnawing need to chase away the ache inside of him is pressing. 

Peter can't even really growl at Chris for being smug; his Heat is too distracting. Peter still focuses, skin sweat-slick and flushed, eyes bright but still a little glassy, and his claws almost lodged into the wood of the bench from how much he'd worn it down.

Despite Peter's assumption, Chris _doesn't_ make him wait. Breaking once seems to be all he'd wanted, and Peter lets out a ragged breath of relief - almost choked-out, save for a last attempt at dignity. He listens as Chris undoes his jeans, but Peter doesn't hear them slide down. He just feels the sudden, hot press of Chris' cock against his hole, and before Peter can even think about taunting Chris into _moving_ , Chris takes the need away. 

The drag of his cock is full, thick, and _perfect_ as it presses into him, sending a primal shiver and a low snarl escaping Peter's lips as the aching fire of need finally takes its first hit. He squirms as much as he can, working his wrists against the cuffs, and given the aborted muscle movements, it's clear that if he'd had his hands free, he would have been reaching back to try and claw at Chris, to pull him closer.

It feels _good_ , feels _right_ in a way that Peter doesn't want to acknowledge. He's breathless with it when Chris' hips press against his ass, the scrape of denim and the bite of his zipper somehow more arousing given how carelessly Chris had freed himself. It speaks of desperation, just like the gently-murmured praise. It sends something aching through him even if he does weakly growl back, but it's exhausted and tight with need. And, shamefully, at least in the throes of Heat, he likes it.

" _God_ , Chris, don't stop," he grinds out, breathless, when the first few thrusts come. They send pleasure reeling, make him feel almost dizzy with it as he fights to press back in some way. All he can do is clench his muscles, but as soon as he can feel Chris' dick hot inside of him, he does it with abandon. 

"I swear. If you stop, I'll fucking _end_ you. C'mon... let me-- _make_ me come."

* * *

Like most things in his life, Chris knows this will have consequences. Such a drastic and forced intensity is bound to leave Peter shaken. Chris wouldn't be surprised if Peter disappears as soon as he able to. Peter will need a breather. Not that Chris would blame him either. They both have approached this as a simple exploration of their biology. That's how it had been presented at least. But it's not so simple _now_. Chris had suspected that it might come to this. He hadn't shared that with Peter though. Scaring Peter off wouldn't work in his favor.

Yes, there's fucking. Yes, there's slick and arousal and the need to knot and be knotted. There's sweat and Peter straining for more. But there's also the persistent desire to want to soothe and comfort Peter, to want to satisfy him thoroughly with a knot and then cling to him and whisper sentiments that Peter would normally snarl or laugh at. Chris has already let one slip out.

But Peter doesn't really snap back. Chris picks up a faint growl, but he suspects Peter actually likes it. Oh, Peter likely would blame it on his Heat, but Peter _is_ a prideful man, too. Chris isn't the type to normally shower compliments down on anyone, least of all the usually smug Peter.

But now isn't usual. Peter's scent is empowering and the wet, welcoming heat of his body is pure bliss. There's never this much slick. Peter has never clenched down so much either. Chris doesn't often to get to fuck Peter - when he does it's usually a quick affair with Peter demanding that he make it worth his time - so when Peter _threatens_ and _demands_ that Chris _make_ him come, it's nothing new. But it is arousing.

Chris grasps tightly onto Peter's hips, his nails digging into skin. No bruises will last, but that's not the point. He's already left his mark on Peter. The proof is right now. The bench groans with each thrust, the shackles rattling and Chris pants. Already he feels too close, his knot wanting to swell and lock his cock deep into place. 

"I'm not going to stop... not going to stop until you're making a mess and knotted," Chris grits out.

He fucks into Peter harder, purposefully angling his hips.

* * *

_This_ is what he's needed, much as Peter doesn't want to admit to it. Most of the time he's more than happy to ignore his secondary gender, as despite being an Omega, despite the stereotypes, Peter is still a viciously dangerous creature. He's killed, and he's liked it. He's stared other Alphas down and torn them apart without a thought aside for his own self-preservation. He is not conventional in any way, and he likes it that way. So that he'd even agreed to this, that he'd let Chris challenge him into cessation of his suppressants is telling enough. 

But now, Heat running rampant under his skin and need all but choking him, he has to admit - if only to himself - that this is what he'd needed to feel. Chris behind him, driving into him, the scratch of hair and the punishing, somehow-comforting, bruising grip of Chris' hands on his hips. 

Peter knows he's not lost anything by giving in, even if it feels like he has. If anything, he's gaining something. Knowledge about Chris, about himself, about this side of him that he's sheltered for so long. The issue is that he doesn't think he _wants_ to know, but it's too late to turn back now. His Heat won't stop until it's been sated, and despite Peter's pride, despite the licks of something dangerously close to shame when Chris murmurs his praises and Peter _likes_ them, this isn't the worst it could have been. If only on a physical level (though Peter knows it's not just physical, damn him), it feels amazing, like addiction injected directly into his blood and Chris finally giving him what he needs.

And then Chris' angle changes. It's not much, but it's more than enough to drag a rough, shattered sound from Peter's throat as Chris fucks into him hard. Peter's claws wedge deeper into the bench and he tastes blood as his fangs slice at his lower lip, but the sting only adds to it as Chris drives into him, hard and perfect and _precisely_ what he'd needed. Peter can feel that sharp edge dash in closer like a razor whispering against his throat, his body desperate to come. The sensation of each thrust blends into a sharper, almost electric pleasure, and Peter doesn't want to know the picture he must make.

Instead, he casts his attention back. He focuses on the points of contact, on Chris' nails dragging against his skin, on each deep, punctuated breath and the sounds that he makes that are almost drowned out by the wet, slick sounds of fucking. He focuses on Chris' voice, on his words, on the rich scent of sex and Alpha, but mostly on the scent that is purely _Chris_. And it is... comforting. Even above the crush of arousal and need, Chris is a grounding point.

He clings to that as pleasure spikes, as need climbs higher, as the intensity of it makes the rest of the room fade out of Peter's perception. All there is, is _this_ , and it would be terrifying if he didn't need it so much. For now, the need is what he focuses on, as this is perfect, is enough to push him over the edge, but it's not enough to sate him. 

Only one thing will, and as he shakes and groans his desperation against the bench, slick dripping down his thighs, Peter finally gasps out, "your-- your knot. I need-- Chris, please."

* * *

It's hardly a matter of winning or losing. Chris didn't suggest (or challenge) Peter to do this so that one of them could come out on top (in any definition of the word). Goading or teasing isn't Chris' forte. Never has been. Right now there is no reason to sink to such petty action. Chris had believed it would be a great time, sure, but it's more than having his dick fucking into Peter's dripping hole.

It's never been just about sex, about fucking that leaves him sore and blissed-out and Peter actually, mercifully, quiet sometimes. It's never been just about bruising kisses and teeth-or-fangs that bite their claim into Chris' skin again and again. It's never been just about hands roughly grabbing or pushing or the times when Chris will kick Peter out after the werewolf has said something insensitive about his wife, but somehow it's never enough for Chris to _not_ get together with Peter after a cooling off period.

Whether or not they will ever discuss _what_ this is... Well, that's another thing entirely. Chris knows that it won't be Peter that breaches the topic, but would there be any benefit if Chris did? They don't need a label. They don't need whispered sentimental drivel or commitment, but want? Chris doesn't know. They've never put expectations on one another, but Chris doesn't sleep with anyone else. Does Peter? Peter has hinted at it, but that's Peter's thing. Chris used to tell himself that he continued to sleep with Peter because it was easier, but have things become more complicated with this Heat. With Chris giving in and saying things he'd not have said otherwise?

They can blame their instincts. Later, if any of them brings something up, they probably will. Right now, their bodies dictate what they need and they can't ignore it any longer. Peter _needs_ to be knotted and Chris is all too pleased to give it to him. He wants to take care of Peter, to soothe and satisfy in equal measure. So he fucks into Peter with purpose, his hands gripping tightly along Peter's hips and his muscles burning pleasantly from the exertion. 

It's when Peter cries out so sweetly and perfectly that Chris knows he's a goner. He can't fight it any longer, he can't stop his knot from beginning to swell but he doesn't stop thrusting. He does slow down, reveling in the increased pressure around his knot before slamming in once more and locking his cock in deep.

"There you go, Pup. There you go, I've got you," Chris murmurs, voice low and possessive. He comes to drape himself over Peter, his arms wrapping over Peter's own. He shifts his hips a little, fully planning on allowing Peter to feel him thoroughly. 

* * *

There is a part of Peter that is worried about whether or not he can come back from this after. He's quite fond of sex the way they've been having it, but this is something else entirely. He doesn't think that it could ever overshadow the satisfaction that Peter feels when he has Chris spread out under him, taking Peter's cock like he'd been made for it, but biology does hint at the possibility that things might change now. Peter feels... _things_. 

Thoughts and whispers of sentiment that he wants to bare his teeth at and chase away, because they work well enough without the added sentiment or complications. Peter quiets the mutinous side of himself that wants to challenge that notion. Right now, feeling strung up and torn open, those thoughts will only lead down paths that Peter doesn't want to traverse.

Thankfully Chris makes it easy to disconnect. Or so Peter thinks. He makes his plea, desperate, and when Peter feels Chris begin to fuck into him harder, when he feels Chris all but drive in as hard as he can, and Peter feels the sudden fullness and pressure of Chris' knot tugging against his rim, he makes the bench creak as he struggles to push back, desperation driving more than instinct. 

He needs this, and there's no other word for it. So when Chris finally shoves himself forward and Peter feels a delicious spike of pain that spreads out into a pleasure so all-encompassing that it eclipses all other thought, all he can do is choke and tense and _feel_.

Distantly Peter hears the words, piercing through the shield that he keeps erected around himself always. _Pup_ \- once infuriating - feels like a caress. He feels the way that Chris' knot swells, locking him in place. But more than that, Peter feels the warmth and pressure along his back, feels Chris' arms against his own, the full contact, being _contained_ and _claimed_ , and Peter doesn't have the breath to warn Chris before pleasure all but tears through him.

Peter comes like it hurts, each deep, pulsing wrack of pleasure enough to punch the breath out of his lungs. His cock twitches and spurts between his stomach and the bench, smearing his come against his skin in a way that Peter only half-feels. 

His focus is on the pressure of Chris' knot against his prostate, of feeling so _full_ , and his body locks down around Chris' knot as Peter's slick gushes against it. The pleasure is sharp, the satiation sharper, but more than anything, despite Peter's desires, what he can feel most is the solid weight of Chris' body against his. 

* * *

It's strange to think of going back, to not have this very visceral raw need that Peter's Heat forces out in both of them. While Chris isn't one to want to bend to his instincts, the intensity is like the hint of an opioid, a drug he could get hooked on. There's a vulnerability in this, a desperation because nothing will satisfy but this one thing. 

With Peter pinned and restrained like he is, they can avoid eyes which, Chris is loath to admit, makes this easier. It makes it easier because Peter isn't so concerned about any forthcoming judgments. When there can be a sliver of separation, when they can hide their expressions... it helps (not like either one of them would ever admit that, though).

But they've been messing around with each other long enough to know that certain positions are better than others. Chris likes to see Peter's expressions, but it takes work to shove Peter out of his own self-awareness. Which is why Chris thinks he enjoys Peter being in Heat, because Peter is made to be uninhibited in this (because he has no choice in the matter). And Peter is someone who needs to let go every once in a while (although Chris can assume it's likely the same for him, too). But doesn't everyone need to let go and howl at the moon, to feel alive and wild? Chris thinks Peter would agree with him.

Buried deep within Peter, his knot swollen and insistent, Chris feels Peter shake and beautifully come apart. There's a gush of slick, and when Peter's body spasms underneath his and clenches so exquisitely around his dick, Chris is helpless as Peter all but forces him to fall over the edge as well. He fills Peter, grinding in deep with little thrusts of his hips. Chris rests on top of Peter, unable to do anything else really as his knot has locked them into this. Chris mouths at Peter's shoulder blade, a few weak kisses before he rests his cheek against the sweaty skin there and just breathes.

Peter will be able to hear and feel his thundering pulse, but Chris doesn't care. Fucking can be a strenuous experience and Chris is no young man nor a werewolf. He lies, blanketed over Peter and feeling content and alive, muscles pleasantly sore. 

"So perfect for me, Peter," Chris murmurs before his hands pass over the backs of Peter's own and clasp, interlocking their fingers.

* * *

It's a flurry of everything, from sensation to instinct, and it feels like a damn tidal wave crashing over Peter's senses. Distantly he's aware of a few things outside of his own mind, of his own pleasure. He feels Chris' weight fall heavier on top of him, hears the thundering of his pulse and the clipped, rough sound he makes when he's about to come. Peter feels the sudden grind as though through a haze and his pleasure spikes until he can't discern one moment from the next. All there is, is a warm weight atop him, the knife's edge of intensity, and a sudden, aching relief, like a different sort of knot that feels suddenly unwound in his chest. 

Logically he knows what it is, that his instincts feel more sated, that Chris _has_ kept his promise to take care of him, but it's all so damn much that Peter can't focus on just one element of it. He feels caged and bound, but it's not enough to make him feel panicked. He feels... contained. He feels _safe_ , and it's a hazy, half-thought as his body clenches hard around Chris' knot and hears the words whispered against his shoulder like a secret. 

He's too exhausted to retort beyond a little sound, and he's only half-aware of the traitorous, "you too," he manages - an admission only wrenched from him after sex that leaves him too relaxed to care. It's out, and Peter doesn't take it back. He closes his eyes as Chris drapes himself over Peter's back and the haze of comfort and connection and pleasure only continue until sensitivity and connection blend.

When Chris' hands clasp his own, Peter's attention narrows in on them. Everything feels one step removed, having been on the edge for so damn long. Satiation and intensity blend and mix, and while he'll deny it to his dying breath, a comfortable haze of darkness eventually begins to creep in along the edges of his vision. 

He's not concerned. With anyone else, he would be, but despite what Peter says, despite the men they are, despite their history, he knows that when full consciousness returns, when he's himself again, Chris will have unstrapped him. Peter has no doubt that he'll come to on a bed somewhere, with water, food, and Chris beside him, possibly murmuring things to him that he doesn't want to admit to wanting to hear. 

It's not a typical dynamic; it never will be. But it's what they have. And as darkness falls, Peter feels the grip on his hands tighten and feels Chris' weight against him, a solid, comforting warmth. It's as close to 'home' as he'll ever have.


End file.
